My last appointment was supposed to be uneventful, but things got interesting.

The nurse hooked me up to the monitors after I mentioned how crampy I was feeling, and the readout showed that I was contracting every two to three minutes.

But the baby’s heart rate was dipping a bit during those contractions.

So, the doctor checked me. And said that I was 3-4 cm dilated and almost completely effaced.

The doctor also said he could feel the baby’s head and that it was very low.

Upon hearing this, my husband and I went into shock.

We were in total disbelief as the doctor told us we needed to get to the hospital.

So, we rushed home. Found a sitter. Finally packed our bags.

Only to get to the hospital and wait.

The nurse checked me in and got everything set up. She even took my fingerprints for the birth certificate.

Accounting for how fast I went through the whole labor and delivery process the last time around, it seemed like it was a definite game on.

But then there was more waiting.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

We were there for eight hours. Nothing changed. The contractions eventually slowed down. And the baby scored an 8/8 on his Biophysical Profile.

So we were sent home.

Seriously.

Because as the doctor explained, he wasn’t going to help it along since I am not yet at term. Because, if I was, the doctor said that I wouldn’t have left the hospital without delivering first.

Oh, lucky me.

So we left. Now with the unsettling anxiety that I could go at any minute. And with my body doing all this prep work, when I do finally go into active labor it probably won’t take very long for this baby to come popping out.

It certainly didn’t take long with the last one.

Which means I could end up missing my epidural. Again.

I am absolutely terrified.

Other things have happened since then, some of which fall into that TMI category, confirming that labor is on the brink of starting at any given second.

You know, the list of five celebrities that you have a free pass to sleep with if, by some incredible twist of fate, you would actually have a run-in with the famous object of your affection.

Because we all know that Hollywood miracles happen everyday.

So you have to be prepared.

I have a list too. And mine is so unconventional, I just had to share it with you.

Prepare to be amazed…and confused.

Or better yet, completely disturbed.

This is not the list of a normal 28 year-old woman.

1.) Phil Collins

Obviously, if you know anything about me, this was a given.

I’ve been his biggest fan since 1984.

And now that he’s divorced again, I’m a shoo-in.

Boo-yah. Someone to sing me to sleep at night.

2.) Spike (From Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Long before that pansy boy Edward Cullen entered the vampire world, there was this guy, William the Bloody.

Otherwise known as Spike. (And let me point out here that both William the Bloody and Spike make for much, much better vampire names than lame-o Edward.)

Spike makes my list for a number of reasons. First of all, I should probably clarify that I am not into vampires. Hence why I don’t own a Twi-Dildo. That said, if I am going to hook up with a vampire, it’s definitely not going to be with one of those sissy, romantic vampires, brooding over their lack of a soul and the torment that comes with sucking down human blood.

Those guys are wusses.

And they care way too much about avoiding premarital sex.

Which makes them no fun for lists.

Spike is different. He’s a badass vampire. He drinks blood and he’s kind of a jerk.

Plus, he has no sexual hang-ups.

If any of you have seen Spike in action, you’d know that he plays so rough that he can tear up an entire building while doing the deed.

It’s pretty hot. And the British accent doesn’t hurt either.

Moving on…

3.) Michael Rosenbaum (but only as Lex Luthor)

Okay, okay. So I have a thing for bald guys. And unattainable fictional characters. And men that are, for the most part, total a-holes.

4.) Misha Collins

Just in case you don’t recognize this handsome face, Misha Collins plays the role of the angel “Castiel” on the CW’s Supernatural.

I realize that I have some kind of weird name parallel going on with the whole “Collins” thing, but I assure you, this is purely coincidence.

I also understand how strange it is to completely skip over the obvious choices from that show, because Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki are two very good-looking men.

But they just don’t do it for me the way Misha does.

I love this guy because he is absolutely gorgeous and I love his voice when he talks. It’s raspy and quiet, and way too serious. I am attracted to his rugged Michael W. Smith-ish family man looks and demeanor.

If that isn’t amazing enough for you, I Wikipedia’d him one night for fun and found out that he built and designed his own house and he writes poetry.

Look no further, I have found the perfect man.

And of course he’s married (just like me). Which is why, if I ever have a chance in H-E-double hockey sticks to get with this one, I need the list.

5.) David Copperfield (circa 1990’s)

Back when he was doing all those CBS specials, David Copperfield was quite the hottie. At least in my opinion.

He had great hair (which, oddly enough strays from my cueball noggin obsession) and he can do crazy things, like make the Statue of Liberty disappear.

Makes you wonder what kinds of kink he could pull off in a dark bedroom…

So I was really excited when I received a Chiquita Moms kit from Chiquita Banana.

Like I’ve said before, I am a self-proclaimed “Mushy” mommy. Which means that my kids usually eat a lot of processed junk. Why? Because it’s quick, it’s easy and I don’t have to start a fight to get them to eat the stuff.

That’s also why I love bananas. Quick, easy and no fussing. Plus, they are actually healthy.

The Chiquita Moms kit is great if you have a monkey hanging around your house too. Thanks to Chiquita, 5 lucky readers will be getting a kit of their very own!

The kit includes:

- A Chiquita Moms flip book

- Chiquita Banana recipe cards

- Chiquita Moms Grocery Tote Bag

- Chiquita Moms Freezer Bags

- A coupon for FREE Chiquita Bananas

To enter: All you have to do is follow me through GFC (unless you are already a follower) and leave me a comment telling me who the monkey in your house is…or you can tell me what your favorite banana-inspired treat is (I love dark chocolate covered frozen bananas).

There are no extra rules or extra entries. I like to keep it simple.

Please make sure to leave your email address in the comment so I can contact you if you are a winner.

And then we realize how crazy it is to still be able to bathe a kid who is almost one and a half in the sink.

But he still fits. Which is why his pediatrician is sending him off now to an array of specialists.

Last week we had to take him to a Children’s Hospital to meet with a pediatric gastrointestinal specialist. A few days before the visit, I got a call from the hospital’s billing department to let me know that we would be getting four different bills after the visit.

One for the gastrointestinal specialist, and then one for a nutritionist, a occupational therapist, and a speech therapist.

I was beyond confused. I know that Bronx doesn’t have any feeding issues, so the appointment with the G.I. doctor alone was a bit of a stretch for me. The pediatrician insisted it was necessary, just to make sure that we were ruling everything out. I still wasn’t completely on board, but because I can’t explain why he is so far behind in growth and why his urine tests keep coming back strange, I decided that the doctor probably knows better than I do and I agreed.

You’d think I would have figured out by now that a fancy medical degree doesn’t necessarily mean that you know everything.

But the gastrointestinal specialist was one thing. The nutritionist, occupational and speech therapists were a whole different ballgame.

I asked the billing lady why we would be seeing any of those people during our visit.

She explained that our appointment was part of a feeding clinic and that when you see the doctor, you also see the other professionals so they can evaluate the child all at once.

I argued that it wasn’t necessary, and told her that I needed to call Bronx’s pediatrician. At that point, I was pretty positive that there was some sort of mix-up. There was no way that our doctor ordered all that extra nonsense.

Except that he did.

So even though Bronx has no other issues besides being really small and having two unusual urine samples, the doctor still wanted him to meet with all these people.

Talk about overkill.

It got even worse once we arrived at the hospital. The lady at the front desk made me sign a stack of forms and some of them were rather creepy.

Like the one that gave the hospital permission to use any tissues or photographs taken during any procedures for teaching purposes. With the promise that the patient would remain anonymous at all times.

I started getting nervous that maybe tissue “show-and-tell” was common practice there and my mind started racing with all the possibilities.

No one was taking any tissue from my baby. Not without a damn good reason first.

Then I had to sign forms for the pediatric psychologist. That’s when I found out that not only would Bronx be meeting with all those people I mentioned above, but now he would be seeing a head shrink as well.

I couldn’t fathom what a baby like Bronx would possibly need to see a psychologist for.

The visit only got more ridiculous when the lady at the front desk gave me a clipboard with another stack of papers to fill out in the waiting room.

It was a questionnaire about Bronx’s feeding habits that we were supposed to have gotten in the mail before the visit, but (surprise!) we didn’t.

That packet showed up at our house three days after.

How convenient.

It was when I started filling out that monster of a survey that I confirmed we were definitely in the wrong place.

The forms had questions about feeding tubes, refusals to eat, and bizarre feeding rituals.

Bronx eats normally. He has no feeding issues whatsoever. In fact, he eats more than his three year-old brother does.

The kid has a healthy appetite.

The paperwork was a giant waste of time. And when we did finally get to meet the doctor and the nutritionist, they were just as confused about why we were there.

They were shocked that he could walk (which was weird, because don’t most kids start walking between 1 and 1 ½?) and when we told them that he was fine developmentally and there were no feeding issues, they gave us a puzzled look and stepped out into the hall.

We never met with any of the other people. The doctor deemed it wasn’t necessary.

Obviously.

I was a little taken aback about how interested the doctor seemed in my pregnancy though. He asked right away how far along I was.

Then he played connect-the-dots with my pregnancy timeline and discovered that I had still been breastfeeding Bronx during my first few months of pregnancy.

He tried to use that as a valid explanation as to why Bronx is so small. That when he was being breastfed during my pregnancy, he just wasn’t getting enough calories.

In actuality, I nursed Bronx on demand for the entire first year of his life. Of those twelve months, I was only pregnant for the last two.

His growth has been behind since before birth. Not just for the two months that I was pulling double baby resource duty.

I was actually a little offended. The way he said it implied that Bronx’s growth issue was all my fault. That I was causing him to be malnourished because I had selfishly gotten knocked up while breastfeeding.

My kid may be small, but he was never malnourished.

The doctor went on to add that once the new baby arrives, someone won’t be getting fed because my house will be chaos.

It’s true. There will be chaos, but if someone doesn’t get to eat because of it, it won’t be the kids.

It’ll be me.

At the end of the appointment, we weren’t any closer to finding out what could be going on and all the doctor could gave us in the absence of any real answers was an order to get Bronx tested at our local hospital for cystic fibrosis.

The medical professionals my son sees are always saying that they are just trying to rule out all the possibilities, but I think they are just trying to send me into a paranoid frenzy.

First it was kidney disease, now it’s cystic fibrosis. I can’t wait for summer to get here so we can find out what the urologist wants to test him for.

That should be interesting. And terrifying.

The only definitive information we actually left the visit with was an official weight. They put him on the scale completely naked, so this was the most accurate weigh-in he’s ever had.